Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
I pull the crewneck I’m wearing over my head, dropping it to the couch while kicking off my sandals. It’s too hot in Florida to wear a sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. You’d be asking for heat exhaustion. Gabriella went all out, and while the crewneck is cute with fun sayings, staying cool was nearly impossible. My bag drops on top of my discarded top, leaving me in a bra and jean shorts while I head toward the kitchen. Kitty Kitty needs her cat food, and I need a tall glass of ice water.
“God bless air conditioning,” I mumble when it kicks on, cooling my heated skin. I’d strip down completely if it weren’t for the fact I’ll need to set Kitty Kitty’s bowl outside. My neighbors would be in for the shock of their life if I walked out with less than I have on now. I pour out a healthy scoop for my cat. Tomorrow, I plan on sleeping in before Monday rolls around. It seems December is the busiest time of year for kids to get sick, the weather constantly going from hot to cold, and more gatherings than normal means the doctor’s office is slammed. When I first graduated from college as a nurse, I worked at the hospital and lived at home to save as much money as I could for a decent down payment on the house I own now, before I was able to take a step back from the chaotic hours. It was fun at first. The adrenaline kept me going, but at the end of the day, I knew it was only going to be a matter of time before burnout hit. As it is, the bags under my eyes, which were permanent while I worked twelve-to-fourteen-hour days, are finally receding.
“Here, Kitty Kitty. Mamá has food for you.” I don’t stick around long after walking out to the front porch. I’m not really dressed for saying hello to my neighbors, and it’s dark out. I bend down, place the bowls for my cat on the ground, give her some more loving while she purrs, then head back inside. Maybe one day, she’ll become the indoor cat she deserves to be. I’d love nothing more than to curl up on the couch with a blanket, drink hot tea with cookies, and have her lying there with me. Especially during nights like tonight. My tree is up, the lights are twinkling, and while I’d love it to be a few degrees cooler, it’s still a good time of year to snuggle, even with an animal instead of a man.
“Alright, I’ll see you in the morning.” She doesn’t respond. There’s no more purring or a meow. Kitty Kitty is fully involved in her food and nothing else. Now that I’ve been excused, I head back inside. It’s not until the door closes, meeting my back, that I think about the clusterfuck of what this month is turning out to be. Isabella’s birthday was this weekend, next weekend is Mamá and Papá’s annual Christmas party, and after that is Christmas.
“Ugh, maybe sleep will help me figure things out.” I push off the door. My bed is calling my name, and if that doesn’t work, there’s always the toys beneath my bed to shut it all down, bury my head in the sand, so to speak. While I’m walking toward my room, I think about all the eligible men I could ask to be my date, since Alejandro will no doubt be at my parents’ for the party, she’ll make sure of that. I run down the list. There’s Marshall, a nurse at work, but I’m pretty sure he's in a committed relationship even though he’s a relentless flirt. There’s a message sitting in my social media; I could see if he’s available. Though, I’m ninety percent sure he’s a thirst trap. He’s probably some man old enough to be my grandpa and definitely doesn’t look like the picture he produced. I guess that leaves the only other option, the one Gabriella suggested and Antonio was vehemently against. I’m not sure why. Don’t most of those places vet out the dates? Instead of lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and hoping that a hole will open up in the earth and swallow me whole, I’m going to get my laptop out to run a few searches of my own. There’s no sense in wallowing in self-pity, not when I can do something about it.
I grab my laptop off my dresser, sit on my floor, back to the mattress, and scour the Internet for what seems like the most reputable dating service. Then I’m going to submit my application, and no one will be any the wiser, except Gabriella, and that’s only because she gave me the idea.